Ten reasons it's great to be single...

Reader, as you may have gathered from some of my previous entries, I am single. Which can be a pain in the arse, given that most of my friends are getting married and having babies and I spend most of my life wondering how much ice cream I can eat before I have to exercise, but it also has a variety of plus points (when I can avoid married friends making sympathetic clucking noises at me). Here are ten of my favourites!

Ten reasons being single is fabulous

1. The bed situation

Shh, you filthy minded lot! I'm talking about the fact that because no one will be IN your bed you can keep it in exactly the state you prefer. In my case (and because my bed is also my office) that means piled high with books, notepads, clothes and scripts (which I end up contorting my body round in order to find space to sleep). When I'm seeing someone I end up grudgingly making my bed every day. When I'm single I can be a messy bint.

    2. Not having to hide the fact that you're actually not that interested in intellectual stuff

The moment when you realise that you don't have to pretend to like searingly smart documentaries about the world ending due to humans being dickheads is really, really satisfying. You can just switch over to yet ANOTHER episode of Friends. Or Charmed. Or even Footballer's Wives. AND NO ONE NEED EVER KNOW (Tanya's flicky eyes were the best thing on the box back in the day...). Also, newspapers. You don't have to read them. Apart from The Metro (which doesn't really count) and The Evening Standard (but only to flick to the crossword at the back). And you can lie about it and there will be no one to jump in with 'What are you talking about, you NEVER read the newspapers!'

    3. Not having to plan your schedule around someone else's

You know what I bloody love about being single? That I don't have to diary plan with anyone. I am so busy. ALL THE FREAKIN' TIME. When you're in a relationship, you also have to plan in couple time. As a singleton, I work very hard to plan in ice cream and watching Netflix time (I somehow always manage to squeeze it in somewhere...)

    4. Clothes that few men understand

There are items of clothes in my wardrobe that only women (and a VERY select few high fashion obsessed men) understand. These items are not items that make me look like Jessica Rabbit, they've got interesting cuts and kitch prints and in general I only wear them when I'm single. Because the response I get when I wear them is that women go 'ooohhh that's a fabulous look' and men go 'erm...you look weird'. (Often I do look weird, so this is fine but when I am single I am much happier to experiment with my wardrobe, as I am less likely to show anyone up-my patterned tights have a FIELD DAY)

      5. Inappropriate crushes

When I'm in a relationship with someone I love, I don't get crushes on other people generally-all of my attention and affection is just aimed at that one special person. But when I'm single, there is a WHOLE LOT of inappropriate going on. I had a crush on an 18 year old the other day. Eighteen. As in, almost a decade younger than me and barely legal. AND HE WAS FLIRTING WITH ME. I think. I was mostly trying to stop blushing and telling myself to shape up so I could be wrong. I get crushes on people in relationships, I get crushes on friends. I don't let myself fall for them, sometimes the crushes only last a day and nothing ever comes of them, it's just that for that brief period of time I go all woogly over them (shut up, I can't think of a real word). Being single means life is full of potential. Delicious, entirely inappropriate potential!

   6. Flirting

Ok, so this leads on from the last point. But when you're single you can flirt. Not only that, you can flirt WITH INTENT. Which is ever so much fun.

   7. Kissing takes on more importance

Ok Reader, here's a question-why do people stop kissing in relationships? Ok, so I know that it's a precursor to sex and when you're in a relationship, you're pretty much guaranteed action, but I LOVE kissing! Kissing is the best! And when you're single, kissing is so thrilling. You spend dates thinking feverishly that tonight might lead to that first, wonderful kiss. You have conversations with the person you're crushing on, not actually listening to what they're saying because you're dreaming that they'll grab you and kiss you in the style of Rhett Butler. You carry mints around with you just in case you bump into Nicholas Hoult and he decides to pucker up. Kissing is MAGICAL. I put a lot of meaning on first kisses-if I don't feel a spark then I tend to lose interest fairly quickly-which is probably unfair, but I think kissing is super important. Don't you? Answers on the back of a postcard people...

   8.   Shoe choices

I love high heels. I have far too many of them. But I love them. When I'm in a relationship, I tend to live in flats. This is for a number of reasons. 1) Men get weird if you're taller or as tall as them 2) They get pissy when you're walking slow because it's hard to walk in what are essentially stilts 3) They get embarrassed when you go barefoot at the end of the night. So I end up just giving in and wearing flats. When I'm single, I am super tall. In fact, generally people are shocked when they realise quite how short I really am (it's like my secret identity! Short arse girl!) 

   9. Male friends

I love my boy mates. They make me laugh like a drain, we take the piss out of each other something silly and they give the best hugs. But boyfriends get funny about how close I am with them. Ironically, most of my boy mates are so like brothers to me that I would never go there, but partners seem to think they have something to be jealous of. To be fair, even the most laid back partner might get annoyed to see his girlfriend playfighting with a hunky man she gets on with really well. I'm not saying I ditch my male friends when I have a partner, but it definitely makes it easier being single. (Also, then you can also do number 6 without feeling too guilty)

   10. Being a career girl

I love my career. I love being an actress, a writer and a vlogger. I love it. And when I'm single, I can get properly lost in it. I can spend my days doing the admin stuff that pays the bills and the nights learning lines and recording vlogs. I can spend weeks rehearsing, then getting pissed with cast members in the pub below the theatre. I can become my character with no risk of it affecting my relationship. It's like, so method dahlink. Poncy though this is, it is kind of true-being in a relationship is distracting. If they're not in the industry then they don't understand how you can dedicate so much of your life to something that doesn't pay, if they are then there's always underlying jealousy or resentment (or just the fact that both of you are flighty creative types who might have to leave at a minutes notice). 

Ok, so let's be honest for a second Reader, if I fell in love-like, actual, proper, head over heels love? That would win out over all of these things, because love is very important and wonderful. But at the moment I am not in love, and I am single and I am still happy. And you can be too. Go on, think of a few reasons why being a singleton works for you! 

Tarrah Reader!

Ash

x

Women, ladies, girls....

Morning Reader! Gosh, it's a nasty cloudy ol' day in London-the sky is so grey it looks brown. But I am in a great mood. Why am I so smiley? Because over the next week many wonderful things are happening!

First off, it's my birthday week. Last year, my birthday was a wash out, I was so unwell that I had to cancel my birthday party and ended up on my sofa feeling very very sad instead of wearing a fabulous dress and seeing all my lovely friends. This year, I am going to dance on a BOAT. On the THAMES. And it shall be lovely. My real birthday (Tuesday) falls on Shrove Tuesday. Which is a brilliant excuse to eat pancakes. Then, on the 8th of March, my wonderful parents are taking me out to celebrate. And it's International Women's Day!

Now, normally IWD creeps up on me, and then I see it on Twitter and give a half hearted 'Whoop, I have a womb'. This year, which has been a year of seeing the incredible women in my life go from strength to strength, I'm actually going to mark it by making a couple of vlogs about being a woman.

Here's the first of the vlogs, which was inspired by beautiful-inside-and-out spoken word poet Natalie Patterson about 10 things every woman should know:CLICK HERE FOR VLOGGY GOODNESS

If you go back through my archives you can also find some blogs about being a woman:

What does it mean to be a woman

The Good Girl Dichotomy 

My Womb Is Not Marked With Your Name Sir

And also, please go and check out the work of wonderful feminist photographer Hannah Nagle, who at 19 years of age takes incredible photos and is a generally awesome lady:FOR PRETTY PICTURES CLICK HERE

Anyway, that's all for now folks,
Have a delightful day, wherever you are!
Ash
x

Vive La Smug...

Reader, in the past year or so, me and one of my favourite girls, Lady Luxe, have come up with a new way of living. It's a very un-British way of approaching life, but we rather like it. So here it is:

Vive La Smug.

Confused? Don't worry, I'll explain.

So, last year was pretty intense for both Lady Luxe and I. We both went through pretty big break ups, lost a lot of self confidence and worked ourselves into the ground. I gained weight and she got scarily thin (amazing how stress can affect people in different ways!). So when we came out the other side, we decided to use our experiences to improve our lives. It all started after she finally ended things with her ex. We went out for a night, just before Christmas and had sushi, went to a night market and then got drunk on a boat, dancing under the stars in full view of the London skyline. As we danced, we laughed and laughed, suddenly feeling the weight of the world leave our shoulders. We had jobs we loved, were living in one of the greatest cities in the world, wearing the highest of heels and the kookiest jewelry. We were going on dates and planning adventures. I turned to Lady Luxe and grinned. 'We are SO BLOODY SMUG!' I yelled, jubilantly. 'Vive La Smug!' she responded, and we broke down in giggles again.

Normally, being smug is seen as a bad trait-but why shouldn't we be? We are normally incredibly self deprecating, we spend our lives doing things for other people and work really flipping hard-we deserve a bit of a smug glow when things go well!

And now it's become a life philosophy. Instead of being effacing about our successes in life, we text or call each other and proclaim 'Vive La Smug!'. The cause for the smugness could be anything, but most of the time it's stuff that we imagine would happen to women in novels-getting a promotion, having a particularly wonderful date, getting a great compliment, having a night out that was just too cool for school-any success that makes us feel delightful.

Because life is too blooming short to not be smug about the fact that you got taken dancing and kissed under the stars, or got cast in a film, or mistaken for Paloma Faith twice in one day (this has started happening with alarming frequency of late. I have decided to take it as a compliment and not a suggestion that my wardrobe is slightly too kooky). I always say 'This is one to tell the grandkids' But what if I don't have grandkids? What if I step in front of a bus tomorrow? I need to enjoy the good stuff while I can! Otherwise, it's all a bit pointless really isn't it?

So my lovely Reader, go forth and embrace the smug!
Ash
x

Asking for it...

Reader, writing that last entry was like inviting fate to laugh at me. 'No nights out!' I wrote, thinking of my sofa and the tv shows I've been watching lately. 'My life is so dull and not like a dramatic 20 something life at all!'

Reader, last night was insane.

Fate decided to chuck me one of those nights that features in Girls, I met Lady Luxe and her amazing 7 ft male model friend, then we went for dinner (but since I'd been picking at things all day I just sat with them while they ate) and we drank out of jam jars (so Shoreditch darling). Then it was on to a private members club in Soho, where we had a ridiculous number of cocktails-and every time I finished one, someone would order another to replace it. Every time I went to the loo, I'd get offered a line of coke (which I never know how to politely refuse. I always sound like I'm turning down an offer of tea 'Oh, no thank you, I'm grand! But cheers anyway!') and in classic Ash form, I ended up acting like a total prat. After a large amount of alchohol, I got chatting to a really pretty lady in the bathroom and was sure we'd met. I kept saying 'Were you at this audition or that?' and even asked if she went to my old uni. In the mean time, her and her friend kept laughing. It was only this morning that I realised it was Angela Griffin, hugely famous Brit actor and presenter. I slightly wanted to cut my own tongue out for telling her she must 'just have one of those faces'.

Eejit.

Then great excitement occurred when Tom Hiddleston was spotted! My new friend Ruby and I decided to go on a Loki hunt (to no avail), but an hour later, I passed him deep in conversation. Realising that I was too tipsy to actually make a good impression by speaking up, I stroked his arm and ran away. I am ridiculous. I stroked and ran. Please someone kill me.

The rest of the night is a bit of a blur, but there was a kiss in a rooftop garden, dancing with my ex boss like we were old men at a wedding to tunes of the early 2000's, chats with celebs about my hair (a bloke from Eastenders called it 'A firey dream'), someone telling me they wanted to write a book about me and a taxi home at 4am.

I'm still not entirely sure what happened, it all feels like a mad haze. Occasionally, my hangover clears and I remember saying some really stupid, far too brutally honest things and have to hide under a pillow again (apparently drunk Ash has no grasp of social etiquette). Two nights of drinking have destroyed me, so from tomorrow onwards it's all about running, Bikram yoga and veggie soup.

For a while at least...

Ash
x

Expectation vs. reality...

Reader, the tv show Girls is one of my most favourite things. Everyone hates on it, but I can't help but adore it. Ditto my love of New Girl and The Big Bang Theory (How I Met Your Mother goes without saying). The thing is, I feel these shows are giving me unrealistic expectations of being in your mid twenties...

E vs R: DATING

Expectation

Every week, you get asked out by a new, highly attractive bloke. Even though you're not on any dating sites and you're only averagely hot. You have lots of really crazy sex in the apartments where you both live alone (because no one ever seems to have room mates that happen to be in on date nights), by the third date you magically know each other well enough to see each other in yer skimpies and if he hasn't proposed after 7 months there is something obviously, deeply wrong. Kissing always just sort of happens, even without any booze and there's always an amazing soundtrack. The dude knows innately what would make you happy and spends all his time and money doing that (did anyone see the most recent episode of New Girl? Seriously, what bartender could afford all that?!)

Reality

You never get asked out (apart from by people you really don't want to go out with) so you end up asking people out yourself. You fret about leg hair, cellulite and matching underwear, constantly question if you're ready for a committed relationship and spend a lot of time swearing at a wall with a panicked look in your eyes. Everyone is married or engaged apart from you. You are literally THE ONLY single 25 year old left on the shelf. And you are going to be a bridesmaid twice this year. Fuck. Kissing is horribly awkward for the first few times. And you always end up being the one to instigate. Your dates are either just like being out with your mates but with a snog at the end or you don't realise you're on one till months later when you go 'ohhh, THAT's what that was'. Out of the blue, your friends start trying to set you up with 'nice guy's who work in IT'. Occasionally you lie in bed and gaze at the ceiling thinking 'Carrie bloody Bradshaw never had to work this hard'.

E vs R: Work

Expectation

You work in one of those jobs that probably won't lead to anything. Waitress, bartender, librarian, writer or something in an office that never really gets explained. Everyone is dressed in perfectly fitting gear that naturally suits them down to a T, your boss is a total ass but in a really funny way-or the parent figure that you seriously need in your life. There are at least 3 hotties to leer at, and somehow you work enough hours to afford a great life and few enough to have an insanely brilliant social life.

Reality

They haven't realised you have no idea what you're doing yet. Or that your suit is from Primark. You have to fight the urge to wail when you see how much of your paycheck goes to tax (how do you forget every month?) and there's a part of you that is seriously annoyed that work is not like school, where you had 6 weeks off over the summer. You are the youngest person there, and everyone seems to think this is what you'll be doing forever. They have no idea that you are also a rock goddess who will become a millionaire from making crafts on etsy and eventually marrying Rupert Grint.

E vs R: Social life

Expectation:

Drugs! Drugs at a rave in a warehouse! Where you know people! And you and all your friends are wearing really awesome clothes! And you end up dancing on a roof with a gorgeous stranger! Or you're spending a night at home and it's amazing because you NEVER spend time at home over the weekend unless you're hosting a bijou dinner party. You and your really good looking, funny friends are chilling out and eating take out from boxes and laughing constantly and by the end of the night you'll have got off with the one you've had chemistry with for ages. He will then become (almost instantly) your long term boyfriend. Or you head to the beach, in the vintagely cool beat up car one of you owns somehow, despite being a paperboy. You all strip off and run in screaming. When you emerge, you still look really hawt and drink beer from the bottle by a bonfire.

Reality

You're home. Again. You could have gone out but you didn't. Mainly because none of your friends are free on a weekend because they're all frickin' engaged or married. You eschew dinner for a family sized pack of crisps and low fat Philly cheese. Occasionally you text the boy you sort of like. Or you go out! Big Night out! Wooo! To Wetherspoons...

E vs R: Living Situation

Expectation

You live in a loft appartment in a warehouse in a totally cool hipster area. Cause those are where the cheap places are. You either own it, or rent it with ease. You have wooden floors, a leather sofa and bare brick walls with neon strip lights and it looks totally fucking cool. Everything is open plan. Your bedroom is huge and really kooky, with an actual en suite and bay windows. Everyone is constantly shagging, because if you have housemates, they're really hot and you have total chemistry with them.

Reality

Holy crap, when did rent get so expensive? You live in a tiny flat with crap decorations. You've made an attempt at style, but all the Ikea furniture in the world couldn't make this crap look good. Over half your paycheck goes on this place, but it's still the cheapest place on the market. Your freezer contains some reduced ready meals and vodka. Your fridge has some ever so slightly gone off hummus and 3 kinds of milk. Your flat is where romance went to die-no one has sex there. It is not a place for sex. It is a place for watching tv under a heated blanket and making fart jokes whilst eating chips with gravy. And how the hell does it get this messy this often?!

E vs R: Looks

Expectation

Your hair is SO shiny, and you have no wrinkles. And you're really thin despite living off your diet of take out from boxes and ice cream off a spoon. Because you're in your mid twenties. And no one ages or gets fat in their mid twenties. Your clothes are quirky and colourful and all fit and damn you have good skin. Are those your real eyelashes....?

Reality

You have never been this fat. Your ability to diet and exercise has just vanished. Along with the Boursin in the fridge. Your hair is being really bloody weird but you can't afford to fix it, so you half heartedly trim it with the kitchen scissors and occasionally put olive oil in it (which, rather leaving it looking like Zooey Deschanel hair, leaves it greasy and hanging round your face). Nothing fits, and you don't own an iron or a tumble drier so all your clothes are faded and wrinkly. Your underwear drawer is HOT though. No one ever gets that far, because your other clothes look like they've been kept in a big ball under your bed, but you know that underneath your clothes really gorgeous undies exist. Somewhere. In the lard. 

And that, my gorgeous Readers, is that!

Ash 

x

Through a glass darkly/what everyone else sees....

Reader, I've often found mirrors a really odd thing. I mean, a good mirror with great lighting can make you feel like an A-lister with curves (or muscles) in all the right places. Bad lighting and positioning (John Lewis, I'm looking at you) makes you feel like an obese person with sallow skin and you decide never to leave the house ever again. On a trip to John Lewis in Cardiff recently I was nearly reduced to tears by what I saw and wore baggy jumpers for a week. But mirrors lie. Because you never really see what other people are seeing and it's completely dependent on a certain light, usually in a cramped little box of a changing room. You're seeing a flipped version of yourself, distorted slightly in a flat plane of glass, not unconscious and unaware and in free flow.  And what's really interesting is that a reflection can be completely objective. There's this amazing video by Dove where they get a crime artist to sketch women as they describe themselves.  Then they get complete strangers to describe what the women look like, and inevitably the pictures described by the women themselves were far harsher than the strangers and they didn't even notice the really incredible, attractive things about themselves.

And to be fair, the pictures described by the strangers come out looking far more like the women actually look. It's a really beautiful exercise in self confidence, but I also find it really interesting as a slightly scientific study in perception. I'm quite critical of myself, but have always put that down to being an actor and needing to have an honest grasp of what other people see, because most of the time, that's how you're initially cast-on image. I try to remain very impartial, but because so many of my peers are tiny weenie and drop dead gorgeous, I always feel a bit like the chunky giant with wonky teeth and a bent nose lumbering among them. I'm not saying I feel ugly, my mum instilled a healthy dose of 'if your body works and you think nice thoughts and do nice things, then you are beautiful' into me, but I do see my imperfections very clearly. However, I sometimes wonder where the line is between an honest and objective critique of myself as someone on screen and in print and just being a human being who sees the bad more than the good (as is the natural downfall of most humans). One of my most beautiful friends Lady Luxe, who has the most incredible figure I've ever seen, an elfin, model like face and this incredible sense of style thinks she is in need of a diet, has bad skin and hair and that her boobs need to be bigger. Which always makes my jaw drop, because she is utterly stunning and I regularly describe her as 'a goddess' to people that haven't met her. Ditto one of my oldest friends, The Bride, who has the most incredible thick glossy hair, beautiful almost black eyes and this fabulous, heart shaped face. She just can't see the same reflection that I see. Isn't that weird? That we can't see the things that other people think are amazing? Or that we just see something completely different? Sometimes it's such a severe thing that it becomes an actual disease; 'Body Dismorphic Disorder', which is a leading cause of anorexia and bulimia. We create this fake, out of proportion, misshapen creature in our heads that looks vaguely like us, but isn't really.

You can watch the (really lovely and worth a view) video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=litXW91UauE

In the meantime, as a bit of an experiment, I asked my followers on facebook and twitter to privately message me with an objective and honest description of what I look like, without trying to be flattering to me, as if they were describing me to someone who had never met me. It was less about trying to boost my self confidence (as in the Dove film) than trying to work out if what I saw in the mirror was a true reflection of what I really look like, because although I pride myself about being quite sensible and practical about how I appear, I'm almost certain that others see me differently. While I was waiting, I looked in the mirror and tried to unemotionally describe myself as honestly as I could.

My description: 

I'm sort of 'alright looking'. I wouldn't call myself beautiful by any account, but I don't think I'd scare small kids away too much. My hair is coppery red, and goes down to just past my breasts. It's actually a bit too long at the moment and is in dire need of a good cut, loads of split ends from a few years of letting it grow and trimming it myself. It doesn't ever really do what I tell it to and looks scruffy most of the time, but I like the colour I have it at now. My fringe has a life of its own and likes to point upwards (particularly my cow's lick on the right hand side) as if trying to answer a question. I'm very very pale, more yellow than pink skinned and I have lots of freckles, which in the summertime come out and make me look about 12 and in the winter fade and just make my skin look a bit uneven. They're not cute-just-over-my-nose-in-a-very-sweet-way-freckles, they're sandblasted all over my chin, upper lip and forehead as well, as if a small but excitable moth decided to disco dance on my face while I was sleeping. I have quite full, very pale pink lips, and wonky teeth that I try and hide when I smile or laugh and always feel a bit self conscious about. When I talk, my mouth does odd things and makes odd shapes, it doesn't look like a normal mouth, more like a strange Picasso mouth. My nose has a bump in it from where I skiied into the french rugby team when I was 13 (don't ask) but I've actually grown to quite like that, because it makes me look a bit interesting. My eyes are a nice colour, dark green, which in direct light turn blue, and I have a streak of gold through one of them which I only noticed when I started getting headshots. I have dark patches under my eyes though, which never ever fade and make me look tired, and I'm starting to get little laughter lines. I have one very big wrinkle between my eyebrows (I blame squinting too much). I have dark, thick eyebrows, which are quite arched, making me look either quizzical or suggestive. Those definitely come from my dad, whose eyebrows regularly try to take over his forehead, but which on a man look dashing. On a woman they look a bit surprising, like someone magic markered them on. I have large (I always forget quite how large), pointy ears, quite high cheekbones and a sort of angular long face. There's a beauty mark under my right eye that make up artists keep trying to rub off because it looks a bit like I'm just grubby. I have a long, pale neck (which I like), but slightly rounded shoulders (which I don't). My arms are quite slender, but very very long. I'm a bit apelike. Or, if I'm dancing madly, like one of those inflatable armed sticks you see outside of car dealerships. My boobs are quite big and quite a nice shape (even though they're lower than they used to be, but I still pass the pencil test-hurrah!), and my waist is quite small (and ridiculously high up meaning I have to be careful what I wear because if I wear something low waisted I tend to look like a big square), but NOTHING is toned. I have what I would describe as a flubby belly that pokes out and rather than just laying flat has a slightly more pokey outey bit under my belly button (as if my womb has to be extra protected by a layer of fat), I can't really wear pencil skirts because of it and my ginormous, very rounded hips, which a kind relative recently described as 'child bearing'. They are the main reason I try to steer clear of trousers. My legs are long, but have huge thighs and my bum is enormous and not in a lovely Brazilian way (more in a flat, back of a lorry, English way with loads of cellulite, which is mostly my fault for being a lazy cow and practically never exercising) and I have very knobbly knees. My calves are quite slender and curved and I have tiny ankles (which may be my favourite part of my body) but my feet are quite flat and long, with odd looking, blobby toes. In all, in the right underwear, with my mouth closed, from quite far away, I look alright. But up close I'm sort of messy and misshapen looking. I dress a bit like someone who'd like to be a grown up at some stage but doesn't quite now how to make it look easy or fit it all together. I don't hate the way I look, because I think it's a waste of time, but I sometimes wish I had a fairy wand to wave over myself, especially when I'm with my beautiful friends who are petite and perfect. 

Isn't that odd Reader? I tried to be objective and scientific, but I think it's quite obvious that as soon as my pen touched the paper that just wasn't going to happen. And for a girl who thinks she views her own image very sensibly due to her career being very image based, it turned out very emotional and weirdly trying to justify how I see myself. So I put out this call for people to describe me objectively (also asking a lot of people that I've only met in passing as well as people I've known for years who are some of my most honest critics) and waited, slightly anxiously for 'You're a bit soft around the edges' and 'Sort of oddly put together' to turn up.

An hour later I had 15 messages in my inbox. Deciding to wait till the morning I went to sleep, resisting the slightly masochistic urge to read them all at once at 1am.

When I woke up, I had even more, so I sat down and read through them all. They couldn't have been more different to what I'd written if they'd tried. Some of them I didn't include because they had misunderstood what I was asking for and just written about personality (or, in my mum's case, been family and therefore biased), but here are a few:

'Aislinn has a very feminine look with a strength that comes from her high arching eyebrows and 

pointed features. These go with a distinct Irish colouring: a pale, gently freckled face framed by 

sometimes soft, sometimes wild, waves of red  hair'

'I'd describe you as looking like Judy garland, but when you speak you also have a bit of Christian 

Bale in there - a bit weird yes, but i've always thought you could be his sister!'


'Like a red haired Venus doll who also has a look of Christian bale'


'A bubbly redhead with a sassy smile. An elegantly defined facial structure with striking eyes set 

against pastel toned skin.'


' she's shorter than me, say, about 5ft4"? And teeny tiny, like waif like, red hair, big eyes, very sort of

vintage looking, but thinner. She's got a bit of a strange look to her, like attractive but not 

conventional. '


'Striking red-head, head-turner, unique look - something out of the ordinary, fair skinned which

highlights the hair further,pretty and light-skinned, slim but curvy - looks like she keeps herself in

shape - slim but not skinny.'


'I think I'd describe your appearance on first viewing as a bit of an amalgamation; cute, elfin face

which would work well in fantasy films, combines with colourful blocks of retro clothing. And of

course, a smile on your face as if we'd been friends all our lives rather than meeting for the first time!'


'Scar-Jo, with warmth'


'Sophie Ellis Bextor but more gorgeous'


'I know I haven't seen you in a while, but I SERIOUSLY think you look like Taylor Swift who's 

classy and demure by the way'


'Tall, Slim build, finely featured, hair striking shade of red and well cared for, stylish sense of dress'


'Ash has the vintage look of Paloma Faith combined with the looks of Lana Del Rey with an enviable 

figure and a very warming face'


'A red haired Sandra Bullock, with a similar sense of humour. Very warm, open face and huge eyes.

Pin-up style body with perfect skin'


'Beautiful. In the totally British sense. An English rose likened to that of kate winslet in titanic era'


'Well, it's been a while - the last time I saw you was probably 10+ years ago, so I'd say then you looked

like an elfin Harry Potter (the hair). I'd say nowadays you look like a 1930s vamp.'


If I was going to draw a picture of my own description and the descriptions of those that have met me, they would come out like two entirely different people. What was really interesting to me was that all of the little things that I pick out about myself as being weird things, or things that aren't particularly attractive, no one else seems to notice-they explain me as a whole person, not as 'broken nosed' or 'flubby on the belly'. And while I tried to think of famous people I might look like and couldn't think of any, they found loads. The Christian Bale references made me laugh rather a lot, because a guy I fancied told me that I looked like him and I laughed my socks off, thinking he was joking but it seems to be true! 

The thing is, image is entirely subjective. Never in a million years would I describe myself as 'slim' but people seems to think I am. And I'm kind of overwhelmed by the response. It puts those days when you feel like everyone's noticing how fat and odd you look into perspective really, doesn't it? I always thought I was fair to myself, as someone who deals with how they look as part of their career-but it seems like I'm just as self conscious as everyone else. Last night, when I was explaining this post to my lovely housemate, I said 'I mean, I'm an actor, but I think I'm also a bit of a girl'. She laughed her socks off at me, yelling, 'NEWSFLASH: ASH IS A HUMAN GIRL!' but it's true! I think being an actor means you have to self critique a lot but it's easy go a bit overboard and still think you're being objective. The thing is, we are human and therefore, try as we might to suppress it, are vain, fretting creatures. 

I wonder what my friends and family would say if they described themselves-but I can bet you anything it would be very different to how I would. 

Thank you so much to everyone that contributed to this blog post-I'm really touched and-unexpectedly,  although it was not the aim of this experiment, the things that I look in the mirror and wince at seem far less obvious to me now.

Reader, I hope you realise how beautiful you are, inside and out!
Ash
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The three stages of breaking up...

So Reader, last night was a bit unexpected. I'd just got back to my lovely cosy Bag End when I had a call from Lady Luxe, who had just had the unpleasant experience of seeing her twatbag of an ex boyfriend and moving her stuff out of his house. Then another call came in from Little Socks who had just broken up with her partner. Within a couple of hours I had two newly single girls on my couch, a bottle of vodka and every kind of chocolate under the sun in front of us, and a combination of laughter and tears occurring every couple of minutes.

Frankly it was a bit overwhelming. But also quite interesting. Between us we had three different stages of going through a break up and each of us had a very different break up story and emotions connected to them.

FIRST STAGE

You've only just broken up. You can't stop crying, everything in the world reminds you of what you've lost ('There's some cheese. Barry liked cheese. Oh god, we'll never share cheese ever again!') and you feel like you've been punched. A lot. Your face has swollen up so much that your eyes are no longer visible and you can't quite catch your breath. Thinking even a week into the future seems nigh on bloody impossible. You can't bring yourself to eat, you smoke a million cigarettes and drink anything you can get your hands on. Listening to music or watching anything but gory horror films just isn't going to happen. You'll be having a perfectly normal conversation and then you'll just start hiccuping and sobbing.

SECOND STAGE

Fuck them. The utter wankers. How dare they do this to you?! You're going to meet other people. Better people. You'll be this amazing single person who goes and has really intense flings with french supermodels who smoke exotic sounding cigarettes and paint in trendy Shoreditch attics. It's been a month or two and you don't miss them at all. You rock at being single! (apart from the fact that you do really miss them and you struggle not to call them when you're drunk or down and you can't listen to certain Bruno Mars songs without having an epic nervy b). You're vaguely hyper ALL THE TIME. You're trying your best to forget them but they keep turning up in your dreams in really odd situations.

THIRD STAGE

Well done! You did it! It's been ages and ages since Stage One and you're quite relieved all that messy crying has stopped (apart from when you're really drunk and it's a) Christmas b) Valentines Day or c) you've just had your 10th engagement notification on facebook in a month). You feel properly single now and are rediscovering the joys of being independent. Learning new skills, not having to text anyone when you're staying out late, meeting new people and embracing being a career person. It still hurts occasionally, but it's more like an occasional heartburn rather than the full on repetitive head kicking it was in Stage One and you can deal with it a lot better.You have plans for next year and you are actually now quite impressed with how strong you can be.

The awesome thing about last night's single girl mash up was that we all came out with it having had a good cry (very cathartic!), lots of laughter (ditto) and some seriously cool plans for the future. We were able to see the awesome points about each other that we sometimes can't see in ourselves and boosted each others confidence. We saw the strength and resilience in one another and all of our different perspectives helped build each other up.

The thing is, there is life after a break up. In Stage One you can't quite see it, but with every day that passes it gets a bit easier-so with that in mind (and what with knowing a lot of very dear friends that are going through some particularly crappy break ups at the moment), don't let the doom and gloom swallow you up-being single is just being given the opportunity to meet the next great love of your life. And a chance to work out who you are. And eat the contents of your fridge. Well. Obviously.

And it's about to be the new year. And what's a new year if not a fresh start and a clean slate?

Whether you're in a relationship or single Reader, may you find peace within yourself and may any fractured hearts be plastered up and kissed better very soon!

Ash
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What does it mean to be a woman?

So Reader, a lovely friend and co-creative peer of mine, Monty, asked me a very interesting question today, that I think I could probably write about till the end of time. He'd read an article in Shortlist this week asking a broad range of men 'What does being a man mean'? and although he'd very much enjoyed the article, he had struggled to answer it, finding it difficult to differentiate between being a male and being a human. In light of this, he asked me

What is your perspective of 'being a woman' or 'to be a woman'? What does it mean to you? Does

that differ from 'being a man'?


Now there's a question and a half. As I said to Monty, there is no right or wrong answer to this, because the outcome will be highly dependent on a huge variety of factors; sociological, cultural and educational. Every woman you ask will give you a different answer, as I expect men would if asked the same question. But this is my personal opinion-I'm not speaking on behalf of all women here, just myself.

In a number of ways, I agree with Monty. We are all human, we deserve the same rights and will have a lot of similar experiences. Saying that, I feel that there are a number of things that help shape us as women and mark us out as being (for want of a better word) different.

So first and foremost you have the obvious differences. Fat settles on us in different ways, we have ovaries, a womb, Fallopian tubes, periods and the ability the bear and feed children. We do not (with the exception of certain genetic minorities) grow facial hair, nor much in the way of body hair. Our hormonal structure is different, which lends itself to us experiencing emotions in a slightly different way to men. There is an old stereotype of women getting sad rather than angry, and it could be said that this is due to us having more estrogen than testosterone in our make up. I am a very good example of this, I am far more likely to cry than shout and can count the times I've been hot ruby red furious on less than two hands. However (and this is a big however) I have spent years on first, the contaceptive pill Yasmin (which alters your emotions), and then the contraceptive implant (which has less of an effect but still can have emotion altering qualities). I was also badly bullied as a kid and standing up for myself usually led to getting either beaten up or taunted, so anger rarely gave me desired results. As I've grown up, I've found that this happens a lot less and I am far more able to deal with anger as an emotion, although I still feel it to be a largely negative one which achieves less results than calm, measured discussion. I do, however, get very very angry on behalf of my friends. I have only slapped two people in my life. One was on a train in Paris, where a teenage boy groped me (completely unprovoked and with no one to stand up for me), the other time being when a dear friend's boyfriend took advantage of another, very drunk friend. I do not condone violence and am far less likely to resort to it these days, preferring instead to use the skills learnt from my mother (a strong, smart woman who uses her words like knives when she needs to) to undermine and defend.

Being a woman is not always a wonderful experience. Being a woman means to be constantly aware of the effect your body may be having and the need to dress in a way that may not create unwanted attention. Or to use your body to create attention. But with that comes guilt and negative connotations. Being a woman means fear of being called either frigid or a slut. Being a woman means a higher level of worry about contraception, as although men would still run the risk of impregnating their partner, they would not have to deal with the physical impact of pregnancy, abortion or childbirth. When you look at a man who is expecting a child, you would not be able to tell, wheras we may as well be wearing a sign that says 'LOOK! I HAD SEX AND NOW I'VE GOT A BABY IN ME!'

Being a woman means we have been told to 'get back in that house young lady' when we wear a skirt too short. I was told at college (a catholic college to be fair) that if we wore revealing clothes and the male teachers had impure thoughts which they acted on, it would be our fault. I have listened to men talk about rape and say 'I'm not saying she asked for it, but...'

Being a woman means that losing my virginity was a huge deal. It meant hours spent in underwear shops talking with my housemate what she could wear for her partner on valentines night. It meant furtively hiding the bags before we left so that no one thought less of us.

Being a woman meant not being allowed to play football for P.E. in primary school. It meant being told trousers were 'unhygenic' in high school.

I was aware of my body very young. I have essentially been on and off a diet since I was 16, although I have never been what would be classed as 'large'. I was flat chested at college and barely got glanced at by boys my age, then suddenly 'blossomed' in my first year of university and had no idea how to deal with the male attention, for the most part not even noticing it had happened or that men were interested in me.

Being a woman means walking past a group of men, having them say something sexually obscene to you, then calling you 'an ugly bitch' when you do not respond.

Being a woman means being told to 'get back in the kitchen', that you're only interested in geek culture to impress men, being told you're a bad driver (even though women statistically have less accidents on the road than men), getting cross in comic book shops because all the women look a certain way, of struggling to find a film where the central theme for women is not a man.

But it's not all bad.

Being a woman means your first experience of buying a bra. I got mine in Dunnes in Ireland with my grandmother and excitedly called my mum to tell her (although there was no way I needed it for a number of years after that). Being a woman means being allowed to be more fluid with your sexuality (we are actually very lucky there, men get far more flack even now for being experimental or coming out as bi or gay). Being a girl means being able to cry without being judged. Being a woman means cosy conversations with your friends where you talk openly about everything under the sun.

Being woman for me in particular means remembering all the women that have come before me. My grandmothers (one a very traditional English housewife who taught me to bake and told me hilarious stories about setting her kitchen on fire, the other a matriarchal Irish woman full of affection and generosity to all she encounters), my amazing mother who worked full time throughout me being a kid, came out with two degrees, travelled the world and found true love with my wonderful dad (who has set me incredibly high standards for what to expect in a partner) as well as always standing up for the rights of women and the belief that anyone can reach the stars. Every woman who comes into my life teaches me something new and leaves me a slightly more built up human being.

Being a woman means singing into a hairbrush, buying too many nail varnishes, discovering and then swiftly rejecting thongs, finding empowering female role models at a young age (Spice Girls anyone?), totally identifying with Anne of Green Gables when you're 13, Jane Eyre when you're 16, Dita Von Teese when you're 18, Lake Bell, Olivia Colman and Rebecca Hall when you're 25 and Bodecia the whole way through your life, knowing how to wear stockings but still having an awkward moment where one falls down halfway through the day.

Being a woman means knowing that what you wear and how you do your make up isn't about pleasing men, it's about who you want to be that day, about wearing the right pair of shoes can make you walk with confidence (like Nigella going into the courtroom of late), about the importance of really good undies, about the joy of not shaving your legs for a while, knowing exactly how long it'll take you to get ready (but somehow always needing another half hour or so), knowing that when you vote, you're not just doing it for yourself but all the women out there who can't vote still and who fought to get you where you are today.

Being a woman means wanting your period for YEARS and then when you get it, freaking out and thinking you're dying because 'that can't be NORMAL?!?! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!'.

Being a woman means having friends you would kill for, dancing like an idiot, not being able to cope without a handbag to store the essential day to day bits and bobs we could probably live without, naming your boobs and occasionally having conversations with them when you're bored, coming up with rude poems, putting ice cream cones under your top and pretending to be Madonna, being able to talk for hours with the housemate you only saw yesterday, hating, hating, HATING it when people call you 'babe' when they don't know you and loving seeing someone look shocked when you swear really really fucking well when they expected you to be a 'lady' (piss right off, wank faced twat-o-matic).

Being a woman means thinking you want to be a nun for 3 months when you're 14 and then actually going to confirmation lessons and realising that organised religion isn't often very nice to women. It means having HUGE arguments with your nun/teacher about sex before marriage, gay people and contraception and leaving feeling very cross but very proud that you stood your ground.

Being a woman means dealing with your body telling you it wants babies, when you're not ready for them, with having a strange fixation on tiny versions of things, with a sense of great pride when you succeed in a male dominated career, when you stand up for other women, when you perfect applying liquid eyeliner and when you can do more DIY than any man you know.

Being a woman is not a race to rule men-all we want is to be treated equally, but it's still worthy of great pride. Because we work hard, because we are still dealing with prejudice, of stereotypes and negative attitudes. Being a woman is fighting against female circumcision, honour killings, enforced marriage, legal rape (did you know it is still legal to rape your wife in India and many parts of the Middle East?) and lack of independence.

And that, to me, is what being a woman is all about. And that's not nearly half of it. Seriously, I could go on forever.

Thank you to Monty for asking me such a provoking question, and thank you to all the women who have helped form me (and to the men too, because it wasn't just women who got me to where I am today!)

Tarrah,
Ash
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Things Disney films have taught me....

So Reader, I've been thinking a lot a bit about Disney of late. Mainly because Christmas is approaching and I'm anticipating some much needed sitting on the sofa watching films, and I was thinking of all the lessons Disney has taught me. There have been quite a few, not all of them correct, nor altogether good lessons.
Here they are!

Disney Lessons I probably shouldn't have learnt

• All pretty girls can sing. All of them. And they do. About everything.
• No one ever does a poo, unless it's an animal about to do one on a villain
• Even peasants wear really well fitting clothes
• Heroes and pretty girls are always thin
• Fairy godmothers totally exist and they're always over 60 and portly
• Vegetables can be used as a mode of transport
• Reading makes you special (well, duh)
• Poor people meet royalty all the fricken time, just casually
• Loads of people that can sing beautifully don't use it professionally because they just want to get married
• People's dad's die. CONSTANTLY. And no one has a mum. But step parents live forever.
• Animals are your friends. Especially wild ones.
• Ditto midgets.
• Elderly women who live alone are witches
• No one lives in a city. Lots of people live in a palace in the countryside
• Bread is just about the tastiest meal anyone can have
• Exotic pets are totally normal
• Everyone has perfect teeth. Even if they live in a cave.
• Anyone can survive certain death. Even baddies
• Trees are perfectly cosy places to live
• Cakes look like they're made of yogurt and when they're knocked, they slop from side to side
• Girls never have to make the first move
• Dancing is the best chat up line 
• Balls happen on everyone's 16th birthday
• Crabs are friendly
• Voodoo is AWESOME and creates green smoke
• It's always beautifully sunny during the day and clear and starry at night
• Wishing on starts totally works
• Having tiny feet gets you places
• No one is at all clumsy. Ever. Unless they're bad or sidekicks. Or crabs.

That's all for now Reader!

Ash

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